Some people have trouble remembering the difference between fiction and non-fiction. So, instead of a sign that reads “Fiction,” some bookstores kindly label those sections in their stores as “Made Up Stories.”   
 
Because conversations are not so easily labeled, I thought you should know that when you talk about me or speak for my state of mind, it’s fiction.



Green Parrot, c. 1820 India, East India Company School, 19th century. The Cleveland Museum of Art Open Access Collection.

Exotic sights embellish my travels. Lush rock towers partition Halong Bay. Goats ornament a Moroccan argan tree. Titanic shields shingle the Sydney Opera House. But the most exotic sight for me when I travel is me. The armor of my habits and routines falls away as I fall into new experiences and, without the usual protections, I am transformed.   
 
I fell into mud on one trip which allowed me to cry for the first time since my divorce. An allergic reaction to bat guano swelled my face which allowed me to be alone and write all day. I fell in love for a minute with a delightful man which helped me see that another love was possible. And all that falling and swelling helped me heal from a sorrow that I would not, could not acknowledge in my everyday life.
 
No wonder I’m relieved to be home. And no wonder, after a couple months of routine, bon voyage is mon bon ami.
 

 My mom was the ultimate penny pincher. Actually, she was a penny pounder and worked so hard at it, she parlayed a lifetime of low income into enough money to sustain her for two years in a memory care unit with some left over to treat her kids when she died.
 
She read every word of newspaper advertising inserts and took advantage of every coupon, every discount she could. And bragged about her savings.
 
This week, as my friend and I enjoyed free terrace-reserved seats at the Milwaukee Brewers baseball game, I realized I am my mother’s daughter. I earned those tickets by using my grocery store discount card. This year, with that card, I also earned free gas and free Summerfest tickets.        
 
Now I’m a committed penny pincher. I take advantage of Happy Hours as well as free or low-cost courses through my community’s library and recreation department. I sign up for email notices from retailers I visit regularly. It’s worth the little bit of bother because, for instance, CVS occasionally offers a 40% off coupon.  
 
And because I’m within senior citizen range, I can take free courses at the university, on Wednesdays I get 15% off at Kohl’s department store, on Tuesdays I get 60% off at an AMC movie theater and every day I get 15% off my Amtrak ticket.      
 
Thanks mom. And happy mother’s day!       
 

My doctor said, “Well, quit your day drinking,” when I told her I was worried about all the times I’ve fallen. Ha, ha.
 
My brother assured me, dad was clumsy too. And friends gave me ice packs for my birthday. Ha, ha, ha.
 
And I laughed along. Until this last bloody fall. And by bloody I mean “stain the pavement” bloody. I tripped on a sidewalk flower bed with my hands in my pockets. Though my scraped and bruised face mostly healed in a week, the inside of my nose is still swollen a month after the accident. A daily reminder.
 
So I’ve changed my ways and vow never to fall again. I walk slowwwwly. I work my abs as often as possible. I pay attention. And just in case my vow stumbles, I keep my hands out of my pockets.